Beyond's Cheese Wizz Diet
by AkaneSukishima
Summary: L tracked down our lovable serial killer, and took all of the jam from his fridge. Beyond only has cheese wizz now. "I don't need anymore personality." Pure crack. Enjoy.
1. Not Such A Good Morning

A/N: My friend came up with this idea, so I'm writing it. Check out her story, Death Wartz: a Harry Potter and Death Note cross-over. She wrote it quite well. I think she needs to update soon, but it is very hilarious.

Disclaimer: I will not state this every chapter... I do not own Death Note... just go ahead and try and sue me. I will eat your head.

Click! The doorknob turned easily. The detective tensed at the metallic noise the contraption made, and waited. When nothing happened, he relaxed. Sneaking inside, the tall man brushed a strand of messy black hair from his eyes; his shoulders as hunched as usual. He padded softly towards the fridge, inwardly cursing the distance he had to travel, although it was under ten feet, and opened the fridge, slamming his finger into the switch to prevent the light from flicking on. He stuffed the last small jars of strawberry jam into his pockets. Lifting a cloth bag from his side, he pulled out one large, plastic container. Placing it inside the now empty refrigerator, he dodged out of the small house. Running as fast as he possibly could, his hands in the air and slouched over even more, he bolted for the helicopter. Once inside, he breathed a sigh of relief. Mission accomplished. Now back to the compound

Beyond rolled over in bed, bringing his fingers up to his forehead to brush the bangs from his face. He slowly slipped out of a pleasant sleepy haze as he dropped his feet over the edge of the matress. He stood up, rolled up the overly-fluffy sleeping matress up and propped it up in a corner. Standing straight up, he stretched, then relaxed into a comfortable slouch. He slid the door shut behind him as he exited his bedroom. The kitchen/living room combination was fairly unkempt; your stereotypical 19-year-old jam-eating serial killer's house (however stereotypical that might be... which it very well might be!). His grey eyes, which sadly were only red as he saw them in reflections, searched the room until they landed on the fridge. He really could use some breakfast. Well, really the only thing he ate was jam. But that didn't mean he only had one kind. Oh, no. When you had jam as a favourite food, or the only food you've consumed for the past ten years, you tend to like multiple kinds. But Beyond had his favourite, of course. Strawberry jam was on the top of the jam list. The jam list was a mental list he'd created a few years ago when he was in a grocery store, trying to decide on what kind of jam to get. He had finally decided on this list, going from best to worst:

Strawberry jam.

Blueberry jam.

Raspberry jam.

Cherry jam.

Mango jam.

Blackberry jam.

Peach jam.

That was his list. He had no need to categorize any of the other jams on the shelves in stores, because he knew the stores would always have one of the kinds of jams on the list of jams. He took pride in the brilliance and uniqueness of his Jam List. He wasn't entirely sure anyone else had a Jam List quite like it. Somewhat of an expert on the art of jam, he was very confident in his deductions of his taste. Stepping forward, he opened the fridge door. Inside sat a large plastic container. But within the container wasn't a very jam-like substance. Instead, residing within the plastic container was some kind of gooey, yellow, putrid, fetid, loathsome substance.

Cheese wizz.

Well, the wizz part was true. But cheese... no, this stuff wasn't cheese. It was just pure wizz to Beyond. He turned up his nose at the jar, and then closed the fridge.

"Dammit L!" he exploded. "Why would you take the only food I eat away? Only to replace it with... with this jar-o-gunk?"

L sat emotionlessly in his chair, typing into his laptop. He was fully aware of BB's intentions, and in fact his whereabouts. He pushed aside the small curious voice in his head, telling him to check up on his "successor". There was no need; he was sure Beyond Birthday would come to him if he waited. But still...

A/N: Chapter two will be up soon. Please review!


	2. Wizz

A/N: Here we are with chapter two! Enjoy!

He ground his foot against the floor, and took a deep breath.

'Okay, calm down beyond. You can handle this. It's just cheese ... cheese w-w... ah forget it. It's wizz,' his subconcious babbled on.

"Shut up mind," he muttered, slamming the fridge door shut. Taking a look around, he noticed that the front door wasn't locked. 'So that's how he got in...' he thought. And after being so careful too. For a moment he considered it the effect of a sugar crash from all of the jam he eats, but he quickly pushed the thought away, as if it were almost blasphomous.

Wandering into the living room, he threw himself dejectedly down onto the couch. No jam. That sucked. Majorly. He stared up at the ceiling, wondering how he'd get some more. He stood up again. Maybe he'd overlooked some in the fridge. Maybe L had taken a little pitty on him and left just a smidgen.

Walking into the kitchen area, he pulled open the fridge door. There sat the stupid container of cheese wizz. He took it out, looked around, then sighed loudly. Nope. No jam left. He put the cheese wizz container back inside, and closed the door once more. Maybe if he watched some TV he'd calm down. But how could he calm down? L had taken his jam and left not even a drop of it! Crouching on a chair, Beyond picked up the remote control and pressed the 'on' button for the television. It flickered to life, and a cartoon image of Sponge Bob flashed across the screen. God, he hated that sponge. Every time he turned on that TV, he saw the inexcusably stupid sponge somewhere on it. He was at the point at which he'd have to turn away to keep from stabbing the TV where that idiotic moron was projected. Immediately, though he pressed the channel changing button. Only to find...

CSI?

And apparently, they were discussing him. He snorted, and smirked slightly. Like they could find him. The fools! Another few minutes later, he switched the channel, to another news station. This was the local one for where he was. Currently, he resided in the kantou region of Japan. He'd decided to hide there for a little while. On the TV screen, a woman he recognized stood. Naomi Misora?

"Yes, and we'll have agents stationed at every possible store, hotel and other public places, searching for him."

He knew exactly who she was talking about. Him. He grumbled. Now he definitely couldn't go to a store to get some more jam. He sighed again. Flicking the remote control to the little side table, he stood up and slumped to the fridge. He couldn't take it any more. If he had to eat it... He opened the door. Slowly, the container was revealed. Pulling it slowly out, he stared at it. And kept staring, and stared. And stared some more. Oh, and did I mention that he stared? Yeah. He kept staring. For the next five minutes. And-

Anyhow...

He slowly opened the top of the container. The wretched stuff sat inside, as if mocking him. How dare it mock him! Setting it on the counter, he reached for a spoon. He couldn't take it. He had to do something. He was literally fammished.

Positioning the spoon just above the container's opening, he bit down on his tongue. This stuff is soooooooooooooo sick. He finally just lowered the spoon down into the yellow goo. Lifting it again, he hesitated. What would happen if he ate it?

Lifting it a little more... he paused again.

'This is sick, this is sick, this is sick...' his mind chanted.

"Yes, yes I know this is sick," he chastised his mind aloud.

Finally, though, he took a taste. He almost choked. This really was sick.

Absolutely, inexcusably, retardedly sick.

It tasted like ... dare he say it... cheese!

Dropping the spoon, he jumped back and away from the offending container. Did he just take a mouthful of dog wizz? It sure tasted like it. Then he paused. How did he know what dog wizz tasted like? He stopped there. He didn't need to bring up that memory. It was horrid enough that he just took a mouthful of dog wizz. Just like that time at Wammy's when- he stopped himself there.

'From now on, I'll just revert to starvation,' he thought to himself, stepping up to the container and closing it. He picked up the dirtied spoon and threw it into the cluttered sink, and pushed the sickly dogwizz back into the fridge. He paused again. Why put it there if he was going to try to starve? Pulling it out again, he closed the fridge, opened the window above the sink, and chucked it out into the busy street. It landed on a nice, shiny black car slowly driving by. It looked like a limouzene! The expensive vehicle came to a stop, and the driver's door opened. Out stepped... L.

A/N: It was a long wait for chapter two, but here it is, people! Here it is! Please review. Thanks!Top of Form 1


	3. Poor Beyond!

A/N: Another, painfully long wait for chapter three. Sorry guys. I just have to take my time with this story or I'll lose interest. my friend gave me the idea and I'm trying to work it out into a work of art! Woo! Anyways, review please... and avoid flaming. But they're welcome. They shall be used to burn Light Yagami! (totally ripped that line from WammyHouseWhore's fics. srry... loved it. it's copyrighted to you.)

And out stepped... L.

He held his usual slumped posture into a straight-shouldered, tight-lipped annoyance. Now up on the curb, he pushed the driver's door shut, and faced the building. Beyond ducked, and opened a cupboard door below his sink. Crawling in, it was a rather tight fit, but if the detective came inside somehow, he could always crawl around inside the walls to escape him. He closed the door silently, and waited with bated breath. Quickly, the detective approached the jam-crazed man's front door. Trying the handle, he realized it was locked. The murderer in the cupboard silently congratulated himself for a brief moment of insite earlier that day, in which he had locked the door. He let a small smirk play across his features for a moment; any step up and above, was a step _beyond_. The detective outside searched the side of the house with his eyes. Looking to his left, an open window caught his attention. Perfect. Putting one foot on the door handle, he hoisted himself up until his fingertips latched onto the window sill. With one great heave, he pushed off from the doorknob, which snapped off from the sudden pressure, and pulled himself through the window... and into a sink full of dirty, disgusting dishes. He grimmaced, and pulled himself out of the messy sink and onto the floor. Beyond felt the thud, and if that weren't enough, it shook the cupboard he was in. The door opened about an inch, but it closed silently a second later. But that was all L needed. He knelt down in front of the cupboard. Deciding to play it safe, he pulled a knife from atop the dusty counter, and slowly lifted it so he could swing it at a moment's notice. He had seen something-or someone in there. And the person wasn't making a sound, which made it more evident at who it was. The slouched man slowly pulled the small door open. Inside... was an empty cupboard. No one was there. He set the knife on the counter again. Apparently, he had been mistaken. Or had he been? But he heard nothing, saw nothing. But, there was a single scrap of paper on the floor of the small enclosure. pinching it up into his hands, it read:

""Hear no evil, see no evil, date no evil.""

An amused smirk. He always knew that BB was one for those kind of comments. But that was all he had said. Kind of a spooky thought, he noted. Pulling himself to his feet, he shut the door. Just then, a paper slid out of another cupboard door not five feet away. Quickly squatting down again into his usual crouch,

he yanked open afore-mentioned door. Nothing! Okay, this kid was really fast. No doubt about it. Picking up the new paper, it read:

""See what I mean? You certainly never heard any evil, nor do you see any. So you cannot necissarily track it.""

This kid was smart too. L had underestimated Beyond Birthday. Again. Bad move. Presently, a knife came flying through the air, just barely missing L's ear by a hair. It lodged it's slim blade in the slightly rotting wood of the wall just above the counter and the sink. Rightbelow the window! Staring at him from the cupboard from which the knife had flew was...

Another piece of paper.

How pleasant.

Sighing audibly, he went to retrieve it. This one read:

""If you are alive enough to read this, then... damn.""

Shocked, L just stayed in place, completely immobilized. From inside the wall, he had heard the gasp, and Beyond held in his laughter. The idiot, was his only thought. He made his way silently through the wall to yet another cupboard. The one where he stored... a staple gun? He looked confused, but picked it up nonetheless. Pushing the cupboard door open and aiming for the still frozen-in-place L, he clicked the trigger. The note was now stapled to his jean's leg. He'd missed again! Quickly, he lifted a hurriedly-scribbled note and aimed to staple it to L's forehead. But he missed, and it got stuck in L's hair. Diving back into the wall and closing the cupboard door before the detective could respond, which was pretty fast considering who the detective was, Beyond crawled a bit farther. How long would it take for the detective to realize he wasn't wanted here? But relentlessly, L pulled the note from his hair. Reading it, he froze again.

""And if you are reading this one, then... ah forget it. You know the drill.""

This one sent a visible shiver down L's spine. Standing up, he decided to leave Beyond to his little games, and left the house with out looking back. At his car, he never realized that the note that had stuck to his jeans was still there. What happened at headquarters was rather odd, but that's another story entirely. After a few moments of waiting to see if L had played a trick on him, Beyond decided to leave his hiding space. Crawling out, he stood up and brushed himself off. Failed at killing L. Again. This was getting ridiculous. Why hadn't he just jumped out and stabbed the sucker right in the face? He deserved it, that's for sure. He lingered happily on the mild resemblance between strawberry jam and assorted bloody innerds. As the murderer thought on this, he realized. He was kind of hungry. Turning to his fridge, he completely forgot. Pulling it open, he remembered. There was nothing to eat. At all. And he couldn't go get anything because of that stupid Misora agent. Closing the refrigerator, he stomped to his small couch and sat, in his mockup L crouch. Staring at the TV, which had remained off even though his foot was on the remote, he imagined some random highschooler with weird brown hair and a huge superiority complex standing on screen and doing some creepy dance while singing "I feel pretty, very very pretty". For some odd reason, this really seemed unappetizing to the man currently perched upon the cushions. Picturing that did help him with his starvation method. He rationalized it as a choice between getting your hands cut off by a bread knife or a clean sword. Either way, you lost something, but the sword was clearly less painful of an end. After all, people that ate cheese wiz must be masochists, and therefor slightly insane; this meaning that they could be dumb enough to take a job as a car salesman, for example. Then potentially, they could take up a hobbie of axe murdering and nekrophelia in the back of his sedan. He stopped himself; this is exactly part of the reason he never drove a vehicle in the first place.

A/N: Weird place to stop, I know, but please review nonetheless. Hope you somewhat enjoyed this chapter. Thanks for waiting so long, by the way. Anonymous reviews are being accepted (I think, I'll make sure of that). Review!Bottom of Form 1


	4. Lobsters, Balls, And Grocery Bags

A/N: I appologize for the wait! Here's the next installment of poor Beyond and his new diet. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: And of course... I do not own Death Note. -in the corner sobbing- n-no I don't own it! I swear!

An idea suddenly crossed his mind. Instead of sitting here and watching T.V, why doesn't he go and dress differently and get some food from the store? He facepalmed. Why didn't he think of that before? Getting to his feet, he headed for his room. Once inside, he opened his closet and dove into the messy hole. As he swam through piles of clothes, old comic books, empty jam jars and other assorted items, he came to a small box labeled "Hair". A box of hair. How stupid was that? Pretty stupid. Pulling open the lid, he realized. This was his box of wigs from all those halloweens at Wammy's house. A sadistic smirk played across his face as he slowly pulled out the many wigs. His face changed to absolute horror. One of the wigs was red. Bright red. And spikey, very spikey. The horror slowly melted into a decision. It was either this one or the shaggy purple one. He decided on the red one. Tossing the rest of the wigs back into their container, he shoved it into a corner, and tossed the wig out the closet door and onto his floor. It landed in a small heap, reminding him of a disfiggured, bloody face ripped off some random man in his forties in the alley behind his small house and- he stopped his mind there. Don't think about that! He shook his head as if to sift it to the bottom of his mind where it would never be found again. As he regained his focus, he came across a pair of black jogging pants. By the looks of them, they would be quite a tight fit on his already thin body. He slung them over his shoulder and into the corner, and kept searching. Pretty soon he had gone through at least two thirds of the clothes in the mess on his closet floor until he found... A tight blue T-shirt with a black collar, and tan shorts. With another swipe of his hand, he revealed a white hoodie and some random navy blue sock missing it's accomplice. He tossed the sock into the discarded mess behind him, and stood up carrying the shorts, shirt and hoodie. Exiting his now even messier closet, he walked to where the suddenly even more gruesome wig lay. He picked it up, and arranged it on the doorknob of his closet, where it would look less like... he stopped himself again. He couldn't bring up that memory again. Slipping out of his jeans and current shirt, he pulled on the shorts, which proved to be quite tight on him, and the blue shirt, and lastly the white hoodie. With one hand he pulled his hair up and around the higher part of his head, and slipped on the wig just right so none of his black hair would show. Turning to a mirror that was placed by his closet door, he froze. He looked like... like...

Like an idiot.

The satisfied smirk didn't help his appearance. The only thing that even remotely pointed to inteligence was the calculating look in his eyes as he glanced around his room for a pair of shoes to go with his outfit. Looking to his closet, he knelt before the opening, and stared inside. His eyes fell upon a pair of white converse with blue toes. When'd he gotten these? Then he remembered. A few weeks ago some random girl had broken into his house claiming to be in love with him. He'd thrown her out his kitchen window, but her shoes came off in his hands. Jeez, that girl had really acted like a hooker, for lack of a better word. He reached inside the closet, and pulled them out. They seemed about his size, if not a little small. Pulling the girly shoes onto his feet, he grinned. Now he could go and get something to eat. Even though he couldn't eat jam, he could still get some cheese wizz. No one would suspect him for buying that, now would they? Turning to exit his room, a shadow caught his eye. Who had entered his house now? A frustrated narrowing of the eyes signaled he was about to leap into action when... a blonde head peered into his room. The cunning blue eyes widened in surprise.

"B?"

The wig-wearing murderer started, then stopped. "Mihael?"

They stood and stared at one another. Then, for no apparent reason, Mello burst into tears. Beyond, against his better judgement, took a step towards the now sobbing leather-clad teen. Mello made a get-away motion with his hands, and wiped the tears from his cheeks and lashes.

"L took my chocolate. All of it. And guess what he replaced it with? He replaced it with celery. All of it! And now I'm depressed, and suicidal, and all angsty and stuff!"

Beyond grimmaced. Was this really Mihael? He closed his eyes, shook his head firmly, then re-opened them.

Where was the kid? Where'd he go? Beyond immediately started to search his apartment. At the end of his searches, he'd come up with no sign of the spastic orphan.

"Must've been a dilusion," the oddly dressed man reasoned. "He couldn't have gotten away that quickly."

Walking to the exit door of his house, he almost forgot. "My wallet!"

He turned, and retrieved it off of the cluttered coffee table. Again, he approached the door. Opening it quietly, he stepped outside. With out a second thought, he closed it behind him, and started down the sidewalk. Slipping the wallet into a pocket in his shorts, he jogged easily down the dark grey concrete.

As he neared the first street he had to cross, his eyes happened to land on a hotel sign. It read:

""You are invited to take advantage of the chambermaid.""

His eyes narrowed. Why would they do that? He shrugged it off, and crossed. A large bus rocketed in front of the murderer. He ground his teeth, but kept quiet. Once the large vehicle passed, he darted onto the sidewalk, and returned to his normal pace. The converse were slightly tight on his feet, he noted. As he neared the grocery store, he smiled slightly. There was jam in there. Then, he realized something. The guards running around here probably knew he liked jam. If he walked out with a bag of jam jars, it might look kinda suspicious. He sighed in defeat, and walked inside. Looks like he's buying... something that isn't jam.

As he entered the store, he spied a lady behind a large case. Inside were... were those lobsters? They most certainly were. As he neared the case, there was a sign saying "Lobsters for Sale". A weird thought came to mind. How'd they get those? Stopping in front of the case, he put on a fake smile, and looked at the lady. It looked like the wig was freaking her out a little. He inwardly chuckled.

"Ma'am, are these alive?" he asked in the most nasally tone he could muster. It worked, because the lady took a step back, then nodded. "Yes, they are."

Beyond reached down into the case then, and lifted a wriggling lobster out of it. Bringing it closer to his face, he examined it. The fish flinched, and he shook it violently. It's limbs flailed, then went limp. He dropped it back into the case. "... That one isn't." He quickly walked off before the lady could say anymore. The first aisle he came to was a large wrack of candy. He scanned the shelves. Maybe there was a chocolate with strawberry jam in it. His hopes were shattered though when he found no such thing. He continued to peruse the aisles, until he came to a sign.

"Bakery".

Now, he knew something for a fact. Bakeries were amazing. With baking. And he knew there was such thing as cream filled doughnuts. Jam-filled doughnuts.

He entered the small area, and started to look down the aisle. As he searched, it became more frantic. Where were those doughnuts? Still none in sight. Dammit, where were they? He needed his fix! As he ran down the aisle, a lady from behind the counter suddenly called out.

"Sir, are you alright?" He turned, and gave her a piercing stare. "Do you have any jam-filled doughnuts?"

The lady smiled apologetically. "Sorry sir, we just ran out of stock. We're getti-" But the oddly-dressed man bolted from the bakery. He had his hopes up so high... Then another thought crossed his mind. Maybe... just maybe he could try to live with out jam for the next few days. Maybe the bakery would have some jam-filled pasteries by then. He nodded to himself, and started through the long maze of aisles.

He soon realized exactly what aisle he was in. Looking to his left, then to his right, his hunch was confirmed. How the hell had he ended up in the feminine hygene aisle?

A horrified feeling slowly sunk in, reeking havoc on his mind. Suddenly, it hit him. If he escaped out of this aisle now, no one would see. But his feet wouldn't move. He was surrounded by... by all of these boxes and bags of tampons, and pads, and pantyliners... he covered his eyes. Curse his good eyesight for reading those labels. But the last thing he had read, just before covering his eyes amused him. Douches? He outwardly chuckled, then uncovered his eyes. Maybe he'd throw a douche bag at L's car next time it drove by. A psychopathic grin crossed his face then. That's exactly what he would do. Reaching out a white hand, he pulled the small box off of the shelf. An even wider smile ranged his features, and he turned to leave the aisle. There, standing quietly and dazedly in one spot, was Naomi Misora.

He took a few steps backwards, then composed himself. She couldn't possibly recognize him. No way. He impassively turned on his heel, and stalked out of the contaminated aisle. He could feel a strong gaze on his back, but he ignored the haunting feeling and continued walking. He entered into another aisle some time later, and plucked a box of spaghetti noodles off the shelf. Clutching the two boxes in his one hand, he grabbed his wallet with the other and one-handedly searched for some cash. A few moments later, he pulled out some money, and stood in line.

As he stood in line, he realized. Someone was standing ahead of him, who looked pretty similar. Only, this young teen in front of Beyond had spikey brown hair, and wore a spikey leather bracelet. Weird, Beyond thought. But that's probably what the kid was thinking while observing the wig-wearing murderer. A smile crossed the brown-haired boy's face.

"You're cool, what's your name?"

Beyond gave the punk a skeptical look, then said quietly, "Hisayuki."

The boy grinned. "Just call me... Kaito."

Beyond shrugged, then after Kaito had bought the small bag of chips, Beyond made his purchases. The man behind the counter offered Beyond an odd stare when he handed him the bag. "So, who's the girl?"

A look of mild surprise, then the man got his answer. "Nobody in particular... well, I guess we'll call her Ryuzaki Asako."

The man nodded. "Well, she must like very odd characters then."

"You'd be right on the top of her list, I think; but potentially you might be pushed off the list for... over-compensation," Beyond shot right back. He inwardly snickered at the fact he'd just feminized L's fake names. He exited the large grocery store, only to be literally tackled by Kaito.

"Man, come on!"

Beyond looked above the boy's head. His name was indeed Kaito... and his lifespan was ten more years. A satisfied smirk crossed "Hisayuki"'s face as he pushed Kaito off of him. Standing once more, he carried his bag, and continued walking. Of course, he wasn't walking towards his house, that was just plain stupid, considering he had a most-likely drug-addicted punk teen following him. As they walked, he noticed every so often Kaito would flip someone in a car off. Taking a closer look, he realized. He was flipping off all of the old ladies who drove by!

Kaito noticed the man's observations, and grinned. The next car that passed, he shrieked into the open passenger window. "SUCK MY BALLS!"

A shocked looking driver pulled over, and motioned to Kaito to come a little closer. Taking that moment, Beyond spun around, and bolted down the sidewalk, and took the last few blocks at a fast sprint until he reached his front door.

Ah, yes. The front door. With the snapped off handle. Wait, when did that snap off?

... Alright, now what was he going to do? He couldn't climb to the window, the door handle was broken off. He most certainly would not climb, considering the tight clothes he was wearing and the fact that he carried douches and spaghetti in a weak grocery bag on his left arm.

'I want in' he thought irritatedly.

A/N: And I'm leaving you off there! Review!


	5. Hooked

A/N: I'm so sorry it took me so dang long to get another chapter of this out!

My computer busted back in April of 2010, so yeah! I got a new computer, a netbook which I affectionately call Lap-chan. So, please forgive me for the long wait, and do enjoy this next chapter of Beyond's Cheese Wizz Diet!

Beyond sighed aloud, and sat down on the pavement, cursing his bad luck. Why did this always happen to him?

It was really hard to be a jam-eating psycho-killer genius in hiding. Why couldn't life be easier on those who deprived others of just that? It would certainly make life's job easier, having fewer clients.

Then, he got an idea. Maybe not the best, but it was worth a shot. He set down the bag of items he was holding, and untied his shoes. He pulled the laces free of their bindings, and tied them together to make one extra long string. He tied the heel of one of his shoes to the end, and held onto the other. If he could just swing this shoe up and through the window, hopefully latch the toe under the other side, he'd be able to pull himself up and into his house. He stood up, pulled his arm back, and swung the shoe up and... it hit the window frame. He tried again, but it hit the sill. He tried once again, and he shattered the glass, but the shoe never latched onto anything long enough for him to pull himself up.

After a few more failed attempts where he made huge dents in his house siding and eventually broke the shoe laces, he sat down again.

Now what?

He couldn't just smash his house to pieces. That'd stirr up some business he really didn't want to be in the middle of. And then, ... it came to him.

There was a hardware store not six blocks down. He slid the other now battered shoe back on, then remembered that his shoe laces were busted. He shrugged, ripped the handles off of the grocery bag, and laced them through the converse shoes. Those should do him until he could get into his house.

He tied the top of the bag and made a small loop. this, he tied around a belt loop on the shorts he wore. That'd work, so his hands were free. As he started on his way, he began to wonder just how much of a mess he would be getting himself into. How long would this take? As he pondered the possibilities, he strolled along silent. All the things he could find in a hardware store; he would be inside his house in no time. Miles and miles of garden hose, alphabetically-arranged wrenches in a plethora of styles...

And then... it happened.

From out of nowhere, a blurr reminiscent of a punk hit him hard in the chest. Beyond collapsed to the ground, squishing the bag attached to his waist. He scrambled to his feet again, turned, and punched at the object. Kaito came into focus, sprawling out on the ground, clutching his nose as blood squeezed from inbetween his fingers.

"Whoa, man... what was that for?" the boy mumbled through the torrent of blood, which was starting to slow down. He ripped off a good portion of his shirt, and tied it around his head, creating an almost Kakashi-esque mask. The front of it was soon caked and matted from the blood, and he clutched at his head. The murderer smirked sadisticly. "Want another one? Maybe on the back of your head. make you somewhat symmetrical? You only have ten years left, Kaito. Or would you simply like a nice big B carved into your chest? I could most certainly do that. I could cut your spine into little squares, use them as building blocks so I can build something to stand on so I can get into my house."

Kaito's eyes widened, then he collapsed, unconcious. The back of his head bounced off the ground with a sharp crack. The bleeding was slower, and near stopping. The cloth was matted to his face, and he lay sprawled on the pavement. The youth wasn't dead, he'd leave that for anyone he messed with next. At least, he wouldn't remember this encounter. Except maybe for the nose, but that had to be all he'd remember. Beyond didn't doubt his handywork as he continued on his way, finishing the short distance to the hardware store.

As he entered the small building, he immediately spied a roll of rope. He picked it up under one arm, and walked around a little, spying knives and nails and all sorts of sharp, damaging objects gleefully. He finally came to the hook aisle.

How unfortunate.

No, not the hooks.

The man standing in the aisle ahead of poor Beyond. He was dressed in a short short skirt, a belly shirt with spaghetti straps, and sling-back heels. He had grown his hair out until it reached the middle of his back, and had blobbed on tons of make-up.

He most certainly looked like a prostitute, a whore... a hooker.

But why so feminine? He was very, very ugly. It was like a train-wreck. Beyond tried to tear his eyes from the wretched thing, but he couldn't. His gaze was permanently locked onto the hooker.

The Hooker reached out to a shelf, and pulled off a giant hook. He then lifted it up, and swung it down, catching the stunned murderer off guard. He was flung up into the air, forward, and face-first into The Hooker's... um... downstairs?

He leapt to his feet, swung the roll of rope, and knocked The Hooker down the aisle, onto the floor. While The Hooker recovered, Beyond pulled off a hook the size of his hand, he dashed for the counter and hurriedly purchased the items. The clerk behind the counter, a girl, smiled at him in a friendly manner.

"Hello, how are you today?"

There was something wrong. The way she looked at him was... filthy. She was dressed in very plain, but still classy clothes. She was a rather propper-looking woman.

"Um... I'd like to buy these," he mumbled, pushing the rope and hook across the counter. She grabbed for his hand before he could retract it.

"Hey, you're real sexy," she purred, leaning over the counter, putting her lips close to his ear. He pulled away disconcertedly. "Please, Ma'am, I just want to make my purchase and leave."

She grinned toothily at him, but she rang his items through anyway. As she put them in a bag, she smirked at him.

"Would you mind putting something in my bag sometime?"

He stiffened, and said nothing. She smiled even more. "You can put whatever you'd like in my bag, it's got a LOT of room."

He finally stared her straight in the eye.

"You can go and straddle the CN tower, just leave me out of it, bitch."

Her mouth dropped open, and her body locked up. Her posture shot up straight, and she tottered backwards dangerously, convulsing.

He dropped his money on the counter, grabbed the bag, and dashed out.

Now he was carrying two bags. One on his waist, which he had accidentally crushed earlier due to Kaito's tackle, and the other carrying a rope and a hook. Now what?

Then he remembered. He had to get inside his house. He ran the six blocks back to his house, tripping once, falling into a gutter, and twice being pushed into old women's chests by passing boys which he suspected to be Kaito's friends.

He came to a screeching hault in front of his door, and looked up. He sighed. He had to get in. He opened the bag with the rope and the hook, and attached the two together.

He swung the hook up, and it latched onto the window-sill. He pulled himself up, and-

RIP!

He felt a cold breeze swirl about his rear.

Great. Just. Fucking. Great.

He pulled himself through his window, and into the sink of dirty dishes. He fell off the counter, and down onto the floor. He left the hook and rope hanging, he didn't care. He was so tired, he didn't give a damn about anything else. The wig slipped up and off of his head, finally loosing it's traction. He sat up, and shook his head.

Checking the time, he groaned. It was only noon.

What had he done? What horrible deed had he done to make something or someone up there wish such bad luck upon him?

Then he remembered. That's why he was hiding!

A/N: There's chapter five, guys. I really hope you enjoy.


	6. Of Cleaning, Coffee and Cooking

A/N: It's been too long, my pretties! ... Ahem...

So I have spent the last two days rennovating this fanfiction. Go back, check it out. I fixed a lot of the mistakes through out it. Not all of them, but most of them, and I added things and removed things. I just rennovated it. All through out school today even, I had fun with it.

Enjoy this next chapter. To think I've been writing this since grade seven... I'm such a lazy author!

Lunchtime found Beyond Birthday standing in the kitchen back in his normal clothing. The package of spaghetti lay on a clean spot on the counter, and he scanned the space he could use with out wrecking the noodles.

He then came to a horrifying conclusion.

He'd have to clean the stupid place!

He took one deep breath, then turned to the sink. The dishes were the first thing that had to be done. He didn't have too many; just assorted cups, spoons and bowls. He plugged the sink and started the hot water. While it ran, he opened various cupboards and soon found a small bottle of dish soap with a small drop congealed at the top from long lack of use. Pouring an unmeasured amount into the sink, he waited for the bubbles to cover the dishes. Stopping the water, he pulled a rag out from the cupboard underneath, beat the dust out of it against his leg, then plunged it, along with his right hand and part of his forearm into the burning water. He leapt back, shaking his arm. Cursing, he regrouped and then poured some cold water into the sink before starting again. This time, he did not burn himself, and he washed and dried all of his dish successfully. There weren't all that many in the first place. As the water drained, he used the cloth to wipe up the barely used counters and cupboard doors.

Now that the kitchen was a little more cleanly, he felt he could begin to cook food. He gazed at the package of noodles for a silent moment, then stooped and pulled a small pot from under the counter. Filling it to the brim with water, heset it on the stove, and turned it to high. He was glad to have an electric stove; he wasn't fond of figuring out how to use a gas stove through trial-and-error. It just hadn't felt like the right thing to do.

He stood and contemplated the pot of water, just sitting there motionlessly on the stove. Another five minutes of hovering about the kitchen proved futile as the water didn't stir. Of course, he didn't expect it to stir. Stirring was a motion usually left to humans and machines. Yawning, he realized just how much the morning had stressed him out. He glanced one more time at the full pot of water, and then ventured to the bathroom, where he proceeded to shower.

As he washed his hair, he pondered what spaghetti might taste like. He hoped it would be flavorful; he had always heard abouti t being delicious. You never know, maybe those Italians were on to something. He shrugged, and finished showering. After he was dressed again, he sprawled out on his couch, and flicked through the channels on his television. As always, the sponge was there when he flicked on the TV. He stopped on an anime channel. They were playing Bleach. He vaguely remembered reading some of the Bleach manga, and he had liked it. Some of the arcs he found dragged on excessively, but he still appreciated the plot, and the characters variety and contrast. As he lay watching Renji trying coffee for the first time, a low rumbling sound caught his attention. A sizzling soon accompanied the sound. He was on his feet immediately, and he rushed over to the stove. The water from the pot was splashing all about the top of the stove and dripping everywhere. He reached over and quickly twisted the knob to turn off the element and found a dry towel. He began blotting at the spatters and pools of water on his stovetop. Irritation flashed across his face as he saw the pot wasn't completely full of water. He sighed. The water inside was already boiling; it would have to do. He opened the spaghetti package, and dumped the noodles inside. Some of the ends stuck up out of the pot, but after a moment they too sunk into the water. He threw the box into the trash, and went to watch a little more television before he checked on his food again.

He soon shut off the TV, and found manga in his bedroom. Akazukin Cha Cha. He always thought the main character, Cha Cha was quite an adorable little girl. As he flicked through the first volume, all thoughts of food, noodles and boiling water left him in peace.

A/N: The next chapter will be a lot better, I'm already planning it. I may or may not update it tonight or tomorrow. But then again, I may writei t and leave it for a bit, just to see if I could make it any better. You know, the process of writing, and rewriting, and rewriting... ETC. Anyhow, please do review and let me know what you think, and tell me what you would want to happen. I have an idea for the next chapter which I think will be priceless.

Do let me know (and that is not a clever ruse for reviews).


	7. Fuck

A/N: I had so much fun writing this chapter! Watch out, if you are easily offended, which if you've made it this far you shouldn't have, then be warned. Racism ahead in this chapter and future chapters to come! Check out a fanfiction called Brothers ContamiNated. It's very good. Also, if you are a Bleach fan, particularly of our dear Espada, then check out "How To Annoy Aizen: The Fanfiction", my newest. I particularly love writing it. Now do love and review!

"Your dinner."

The genius jumped, dropping his manga. "What the hell?" he exploded, turning around to face whoever had spoken. There stood a short dark-skinned woman, holding out a perfect plate of spaghetti. In the back of his mind, he commended her for her silent approach and element of surprise. Outwards, he glowered down at her. She tilted her head.

"Your dinner," she repeated, holding the plate out to him.

He didn't move to take the plate, although his stomach screamed at him. "Don't you know it's impolite to enter one's house with out permission? Much less to cook?"

She bowed politely. "I sorry, sir, you no want your dinner?"

Beyond sighed, and threw his hands in the air. "Okay, okay! Just please... leave." He plucked the plate from her grasp, and she handed him a fork, a spoon and a knife. He sat down and ate.

It's not that he had never tasted other foods than jam before. Beyond was just simply used to the sticky, gooey consistency at which jam stayed for months and months. He was used to the sweet and sticky substance moving down his throat, and the appearance of red on his hands. He had a keen appreciation for the colour. His tastes were always sweet and red.

The noodles in the plate in his lap were not sweet or red by any means, but they were not bad, either. A little bland, he noted, but passable. He had long since decided that jam was by far the superior food, and that all other consumables must be flavorless and worthless. Unacceptable for ingestion if jam was with in acquirability.

"You like?" came the soft accented voice from behind him again.

"Gah!" he jumped, nearly overturning his plate. "Why do you always sneak up on me from behind? And why haven't you left yet?" He steadied the food in his lap, but turned his torso to face the woman.

She tilted her head again. "I stay and clean, and cook," she said politely, gesturing around the house. "Is dirty."

He sighed. "Fine, whatever. Just leave tonight, if you feel this strong of an urge to do this."

She shook her head. "No, I stay here and clean and cook,' she insisted, gesturing around again.

"I have no room," he pointed out.

"I make some," she countered.

"I have no money," he protested.

"I do."

"I can't feed you."

"I can."

"I don't need you."

"Yes you do."

He thought for a second.

"You don't need to be here, don't you have anywhere else to go?"

She smiled. "Yes, and no, mister sir."

Mister sir? He shrugged. At least she didn't know his name. That would be trouble indeed. He imagined the chaos that would create in his life, to have his name so easily available to the public. He inwardly shivered. No, he'd never let her know his name. His name was no knowledge of hers.

"Oh, and I hope you no mind, I like singing, Mr. Birthday."

...Fuck.

"And I like dancing," she continued.

...Fuck.

"No cleaner, I go out and buy some now." She turned on her heel, and walked out of the house.

... Fuck.

"Oh, and new doorknob, is broken!" With that, she disappeared down the block, leaving his door swinging wide open.

...Fuck.

He slowly turned, and looked around his house. The kitchen was organized, and all the pots hung in order. He groaned, and clapped his hand to his head. he could feel a massive headache coming on. He sat down on his couch again, then sprawled out on his back. He picked up his manga once more, and continued where he had left off. He soon dozed off again, leaving his house door wide open.

L stopped the vehicle outside of the murderer's house again. With a sly grin, he noticed the open door. He climbed out of the limo, and took the empty jam jar with him. He placed it on B's doorstep, and then disappeared back into his vehicle, driving off. Light sat in the vehicle next to L.

"You know, Ryuzaki, you are having all together too much fun with this," he pointed out. "What are you trying to do?"

L smiled his rare, goofy smile. "I'm just having a little bit of fun while I can, Light-kun. After all, working so closely with Kira has it's risks."

Light nodded in understanding, then caught himself. "Hey, not cool Ryuzaki! I'm not kira!" L chuckled, and inwardly sneered. 'sucker', he mentally chortled.

"Mr. Birthday!" He shot bolt upright on the couch, then immediately regretted it. his head throbbed, and he fell back with a little cry. The woman stood in the doorway, holding two full shopping bags. "I come back with cleaners and doorknob, Mr. Birthday sir. I bought other things too," she giggled, and stepped inside. He flipped over, and pressed his face into the couch cushion. Please don't exist, please don't exist, please don't exist...

"Are okay, Mr. Birthday sir, yes?" said a worried voice over his head. He slowly sat up this time, being careful not to jar himself.

"Yeah, I'm fine thanks," he muttered, rubbing his forehead with his palms. "What all did you buy?"

She smiled. "Windex, vinegar, dish soap, laundry soap, bleach-"

"Why did you buy anime?"

She paused. "I no buy anime, sir, I buy bleach."

"My point exactly."

She looked confused. He got to his feet, and pulled a manga off of a shelf by his TV. "This is Bleach," he showed her some of the characters on the cover. She raised an eyebrow.

"Why is he flipping bird?" she asked, concealing a laugh. He looked. Indeed, one of the characters was "flipping bird". He shrugged, and placed the book back on the shelf.

"I already have Bleach, why would you buy more?" She shook her head. "No no no, I buy bleach, not Bleach." She pulled out a jug of clearish white liquid. "See?"

He studied the label. "... Point taken," he sighed, and sat down on the couch. "You do whatever, I'm busy."

Ten minutes later...

"Your room very messy, Mr. Birthday sir!"

...Fuck.

A/N: There's a good abridged of Death Note by TeamDattebayo. Do check it out, it's on youtube still I believe. It is pure genius. Please review!


	8. RaisinFace

A/N: Alright! I will be updating this mostly on Wednesdays from now on. Hold me to it, guys! Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please review!

'Get out, get out, get out, get out, get ou-

"Sir?"

"OUUUUUUT!"

"... What?"

He stood in the doorway, his hands on his hips and his elbows touching the frame. She stood and faced him from the center of a perfectly organized and spotless room. Even the ceiling shone with new brightness.

He paused, then it sunk in. It was official; he was going nuts.

Completely, inexplicably bonkers.

He sorted through his head for an excuse. She looked up into his face with this request.

"Sorry, I have... brain... damage?"

Now he really felt stupid. She regarded him with a critical eye.

"You look perfectly fine, Mr. Birthday sir, but if you say damage, then I guess, damage." She looked down, then stepped forward, placing a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder. She had to reach up considerably to do this.

"I sorry for your disability. I take care of you. You lay down and be good boy, yes?"

Now he felt extra stupid.

"Just because I am mentally disabled, doesn't mean you get to treat me like I'm incompetent," he mumbled. Then he snapped to focus.

Mentally disabled? Incompetent?

"I sorry, but I no want you to become malnurished," she pleaded, eyes tearing up. He winced inwardly. Crying women were not his forte.

"Um... it's okay? I'm um... a care patient of ... a nearby nursing home?"

Nursing home? He mentally snarled. This was getting extra, extra extra stupid, with a side of super stupid.

Her eyes widened. "I had no idea of your age, sir! I sorry!" She babbled on incoherently. He zoned out until there was a considerable silence. He looked down at her.

She looked up at him.

He sighed, then resigned himself to his fate. Then, he brightened. This could be a good cover!

"Yes. I am victem to a rare disease called I-am-really-a-nineteen-year-old-serial-killer-who-has-just-made-a-faceplant-into-his-supersized-order-of-stupid-itus."

She gasped. "That sounds serious, Mr. Birthday sir! Should I hospital?"

Should I hospital? What the hell did that mean?

"Um... sure?" he responded, giving up entirely. She nodded, then swiftly, with strength a tiny woman really shouldn't have, lifted him easily up over her shoulder and dashed out of the house, down the street, and around a bend. Beyond slowly retraced his life in the past few days, and decided that this was the worst thing that had happened yet.

Even over his jam...

Maybe not, he reconsidered. His jam was far more important than his dignity, his pride, and his cover.

And his manga.

He returned his focus to where they were going. He was pretty sure that she was new to the country, or just very sheltered. How could someone not know what Bleach was? He inwardly scoffed. He wouldn't let them get lost. He would-

Outside of his reverie, the little woman had carried him into the large, open foyer of a hospital, and was rushing up to a counter.

"We have emergency!" she cried.

She was definitely new. Didn't she understand that the emergency room was where you went when you had an emergency?

The woman behind the counter nodded, and swiftly got to her feet. The maid carrying him babbled explanations in heavily accented bad grammar until they reached a small room. He was being carried like a sack of potatoes, so everything was up-side-down. But he was a genius, and he could read up-side-down.

""Senior Assessment.""

If he wasn't being carried up-side-down, he would have blanched considerably. But as it was, his face was bright red, and his head throbbed. He wriggled uncomfortably just as he was lifted, and seated in a badly-cushioned chair, the stuffing poking out of the left arm-rest, and all of the foam missing on the right. He folded his hands in his lap, and observed the room around him. There wasn't anyone else in the room except for him, the maid, and a doctor with the name "Doctor Doc" over his head. The man was good to live for another 57 years. He appeared to be in his mid thirties to early fourties.

He then realized something.

He had been so angry the past few hours- scratch that, the entire day- that it hadn't occurred to him. He glanced at the maid, and there was no life-span over her head. And the name above her head was... "Maid"?

He decided to just not question, and leave her to her business. The doctor was scratching notes on a clipboard furiously, and asking the worried Maid quick questions. At one of them, (Beyond wasn't paying close enough attention to catch it), she turned to him, and waved for his attention.

"What was your illness?" she pried.

He sighed.

"I-am-really-a-nineteen-year-old-serial-killer-who-has-just-made-a-faceplant-into-his-supersized-order-of-stupid-itus."

Doctor Doc's eyes opened wide. "That is a very serious disease indeed! You must be a rare case indeed, Mr. Birthday. It is said to only affect nineteen-year-old serial killers who make faceplants into supersized orders of stupid! This is a mystery!" He scanned down his paper.

"Yes... I'm afraid we will have to put you into the Bingo-Wings Nursing Home."

He facepalmed. Bingo-wings?

"Charming," he muttered. Doctor Doc nodded. "Yes, indeed. I sure hope you like bingo, Mr. Birthday."

With out another word to the now defeated-looking Beyond, he motioned out of the door, calling in a seeming brigade of women in their fourties and fifties, all surrounding a wheelchair, and all insisting on pushing it at once. He looped his legs behind the metal rungs of his current seat, and curled his fingers around the bars holding up the seat portion. He wasn't going with out a passive and probably ineffective fight!

He found himself seated at a table with a small card in front of himself, along with a pile of small red tabs. He was in a wheelchair.

Of course, he had no idea how he had gotten there.

"Respirator!" a shaky, age'd voice called out. He glanced up. Seated around him were tons of wrinkled visages, and frumpy shirts. Sagging scalps and frizzy gray hair adorned these raisin-faces.

Raisin-faces. That's exactly what he recalled Mihael Keehl calling the elderly back at Wammy's.

Then, he ground his teeth and leapt to his feet, bumping the table and all the red tabs.

"I'M NOT A FUCKING RAISIN-FACE!"

A/N: Hi! If you are a Kuroshitsuji fan who has watched the second season, type in "Claude Yes Dance" into youtube. It's hilarious! Please review, and feel free to give me ideas!


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